


The Fall

by JeromeSankara



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Cloakie rights, M/M, Mental Instability, Minor Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stephen Strange Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Why is the Cloak not a character yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22890853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeromeSankara/pseuds/JeromeSankara
Summary: The world beneath Stephen Strange has never been solid. It twists and churns, then falls out from beneath his feet entirely. Yet he never completes the fall. He just... falls and falls and falls, deeper and deeper. His will is slipping, and he needs solid ground. Tony Stark may be that bedrock.Bad Things Happen Bingo: Suicide AttemptIronstrange Bingo: For the Greater Good
Relationships: Tony Stark & Stephen Strange
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1349692
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, IronStrange Bingo 2020





	The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes your mind prods you where it shouldn't. It wants to throw you over that bridge you're walking on. It wants you to veer into traffic. Never give in to that voice.

Falling.

He was falling.

There was nothing to catch him but the cold, hard ground that always seemed to be just out of reach. All he could do was fall.

He had already left his choices on the ledge, this was his final decision. His final moment of control. Bright lights of the city said their farewell as he fell, illuminating his darkest desires coming true.

There would be peace after the fall. He just needed to reach the ground. Maybe a split second of pain, then silence.

But he could only fall, fall, fall… Fall with his swarming thoughts telling him that this was a mistake, his demons praising him for this final act, and the knowledge that it had to end eventually.

If only he could just…

Stop.

“Stephen!”

Stephen’s eyes snapped open, the sudden rush through his body making all the colors blur together. Bright lights, but they were still. He was not moving. He was not falling. He was standing on solid ground. He had not jumped.

He had not jumped.

“Are you back?”

Someone was beside him, and his mind finally connected the voice to a name. Tony. His voice had quieted from the shout that brought him back, but Stephen could not turn to see him. He couldn’t move his feet. They froze him to the floor, tempting him with that decision again. He was standing in front of glass windows overlooking the expanse of New York City, so close that his rapid breath fogged the surface. All he had to do was break through and take one step.

An itty, bitty, tiny step. Then everything would turn quiet. Everything would stop.

Then came a sharp pull around his neck and shoulders. Stephen stumbled back, every step away from the window quieting the urge. When Stephen raised his hands to push at his potential attacker, he realized that his hands were knotted into thick, red fabric. The pain in his hands felt distant, for now. He just stared at his white knuckles, the violent shaking, his body’s only attempt to hold himself back from what it so desired.

The Cloak of Levitation pulled him several feet, until Stephen stumbled back into something soft. Couch, chair, didn’t matter. It was solid ground. It was away from the ledge.

Only now that his body was contained did Stephen pull himself back to the present. Tony’s penthouse, yes. He remembered coming here. It would be Tony’s fruitless attempt to convince him to join the Avengers, he remembered now. He remembered stepping through the threshold, Tony offering him a glass of wine. He remembered the casual quip of his outfit. Now he could feel the sweat that dampened the very same tunic, beads still rolling down his face.

Then Stephen couldn’t get air in his lungs, couldn’t, they were too tight, his throat, everything was cold, everything was hot, he couldn’t-

Warm palms pressed against his cheeks, forcing his head to stare down at the ground. Where Tony Stark was kneeling in front of him. Iron Man himself, kneeling before Stephen Strange. He would appreciate it later. Right now, he would appreciate air.

“Breathe,” Tony said, his voice calm and even. “Deep breath, count to three, let it out. Count to three, deep breath, count to three, then out. Deep breath…”

Stephen’s lungs heaved with the maddening urge for air, and even as he tried to focus on Tony’s words, he barely made it past one before it rushed back out.

“Try again, slow. Breathe,” Tony started again, his hands still firm against his cheeks. This time, Stephen made it to a little past two. Tony didn’t stop, just continued counting.

Breathe, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. Breathe, one, two, three. Out, one… two… Breathe…

The entire time, Tony’s eyes didn’t break contact with his. Solid. Grounding. His voice continued, until Stephen connected enough brain cells to nod.

Tony nodded in return. “Welcome back,” he murmured, giving as much of a smile as he dared. His hands rested against Stephen's cheeks for a few more lingering moments until he dropped them. They still hovered close, just in case.

Stephen swallowed, managing to work something through his throat that wasn't just uneven breath. His mouth felt dry, his head stuffed with cotton, but he took a quick mental inventory. Stephen was safe in this room, he wasn't in danger, there were no enemies, he had no injuries, and he was in the company of someone he trusted.

Well, trusted enough. The whole donut ship thing, saving the universe after the snap, it was a necessary evil to trust Tony. But now the world was more or less returning to normal, and life threatening events came at a more leisurely pace.

He hadn't realized Tony had stepped away until he felt something cold. A bottle of water was pressed against the side of his hand, just enough to feel its presence. He couldn't move it from where it was still knotted into the Cloak, each finger stiff in the position.

"You don't have to drink it now," Tony hummed, back to kneeling in front of him. Stephen's eyes lingered on the blue arc reactor giving that comforting glow. Blue was such an odd color. Always related to sadness, but it instead provided calmness. A random fact poked around in his brain of the blue street lights in Japan to help lower the suicide rate. Fitting that it was the same color calming him now.

By this point, Stephen realized that he hadn't said a word, mostly because he couldn't but also because he didn't want to. It would just open the door to questions. He had been to Tony's penthouse before, normally to help bind his wounds after a battle and even more so lately with Tony's business inquires, why had he reacted now?

"Y-you remembered the…" Stephen started, his voice a croak. He really wanted that water, but his hands still weren't working loose.

"The breathing thing? 'Course. Doctor's orders and all that," Tony smirked, somehow more at ease than someone in his position should be. He shifted from his knees to sit on the floor, a sign that he would not be moving anytime soon. Stephen didn't want him to.

His eyes stayed on the reactor, and he let the counting tick away in his head for each breath. Stephen had taught Tony the trick not long after defeating Thanos, when a quiet conversation turned to chaos at a literal snap of the fingers. There was a reason why Stephen knew it worked as well as he did.

Tony stayed quiet, setting the bottle of water down right by the chair. The Cloak didn't dislodge his hands and instead curled the thick fabric around them, holding and rubbing to work them loose. It was like clockwork, done hundreds of times before. All Stephen wished was that he could have had this attack alone. Much less humiliating.

Unfortunately for Stephen, Tony knew more than anyone honestly should about these sudden flashes.

Stephen told Tony about the fourteen million futures after he had an attack in front of him. He told Tony that sometimes he lapsed in between them. He warned Tony that it was a danger, but that only seemed to invite Tony closer for a challenge.

"You can talk about it. Or not. Up to you. I got nowhere to go."

Tony's voice was light, like this was just a casual conversation over coffee. It helped Stephen center himself again, to know that this was safe. As long as he didn't look out the windows.

It took work to open his mouth again, but not a sound escaped. His body just remained stiff, waiting for the floor to fall through. He couldn't raise his head from Tony's chest, from the comforting blue light, because all he would see was the thin barrier between himself and empty air.

Feeling Stephen's body still unwilling to relax, the cloak pulled off of his shoulders and instead curled around Stephen's front, draping over him like a blanket. It was soft and heavy, and somewhere in the back of his mind he chastised himself for being babied by a sentient piece of wardrobe. The rest of him just wanted to find peace in whatever way he could.

"The windows," Stephen finally rasped.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, you heard the wizard," Tony called, waving his hand towards the windows for emphasis. The A.I. chimed in response before the windows darkened, like they were turning into walls. The city lights were blocked off, and Stephen felt the weight finally lift from his chest.

Sucking in the first true unhindered breath, Stephen let it out with a shudder. One by one, he worked his fingers loose from the cloak, sending a silent apology to his companion for grasping it so hard. A throbbing ache came with each movement, but Stephen had been dealing with the pain so long that it was second nature.

Tony did not speak again, just waited as Stephen finally pulled his hands free from the fabric. They were still shaking, more so than usual. Tony had to hand the bottle of water back to Stephen, then take it back to twist off the cap, and only then was Stephen able to drink. It was cold and sent shivers through his body with every gulp, but he stopped himself. No use making himself sick for relief.

"I don't like heights," Stephen plainly said, his own words hollow. He felt like he owed Tony an explanation, a reason why he broke down so suddenly. Tony had done the same for him on multiple occasions.

"Hm," Tony hummed, his whiskey brown eyes still watching every movement he did or did not make. "Doesn't seem to bother you so much when you're flying to Hogwarts."

The wizard jokes were supposed to make Stephen laugh, or maybe to strike back with a similar banter, but it just fell flat.

"Because I don't have to worry about falling. Not with…" Stephen trailed off, running a shaky hand across the cloak where it laid across his chest. It was his protector in a way. Saved his life thousands of times before and hopefully will do the same for the future.

It would only take one time, though. One time without his relic.

"It's not falling."

Tony's brows knit together, eyes still searching. "If it's not falling, then…?" he prompted quietly, still sitting at Stephen's feet. This must be the last thing Tony would expect to happen tonight. Comforting the Sorcerer Supreme because he was scared of heights. But it wasn't the height that scared him. It wasn't a fear of falling. It was…

"Jumping."

The man stiffened in front of him, eyes widening. "Doc, you trying to tell me that just now you wanted to-"

"Yes." The answer came without his consent, but perhaps he just didn't want to hear the end of that sentence. "And no," he added when Tony's face turned astonishingly pale. This couldn't be the first time that Tony had this conversation with someone.

‘Superheroes’ did not live peaceful, mentally sound lives. How they weren't dropping like flies after the first snap was a miracle in itself. God knows more than enough people filled that role, though. Human minds were so fragile that if it was tipped off balance…

"I'm gonna need a bit more of an answer than that," Tony muttered, ducking his head down in an attempt to meet Stephen's eyes. "Is there something going on? World's ending? Something you saw in the timelines? You don't strike me as someone who'd just…" Neither wanted to finish that sentence.

Because it was true. Stephen should be stronger, he was the Sorcerer Supreme. The realities relied on him, but… He was still a human.

Stephen closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair, and the Cloak tightened around him. His fingers traced over the intricate patterns, even as the pins and needles sensation still ached deeply. "I don't seek out death. I haven't decided that I wanted to die. I could have done so with a simple spell to stop my heart. I know plentiful combinations of medications to kill me. I can open a portal into a volcano, onto Everest, the possibilities are quite literally endless."

Stephen could feel Tony's stare, and he wondered why he was admitting all of this. Maybe because it felt good to tell someone. Maybe he thought Tony would understand. Or maybe he wanted someone to know the truth when they discover his body after he loses control.

"You haven't. You're not hurting yourself, right? If you need help, I know plenty of doctors-"

"It's not something a doctor of any kind can help," Stephen interrupted, not bothering to open his eyes. “No psychologist will be able to wrap their mind around what I have experienced, and the only being who would understand died for me to become the Sorcerer Supreme.”

It would be a lie to say that Stephen did not miss The Ancient One. There were so many things she had not been able to teach, things only she would know. How to continue on past the trauma of multiple timelines, how to anchor himself down into the current moment and not feel like he was slipping back and forth between futures and timelines, how to… keep going. How to not look back. It wasn’t to say that Stephen had everything handled now and it was slipping away, it was more that the pieces had not yet hit the ground and shattered.

But they will.

One day, they will.

When you die more than fourteen million times, death loses meaning. It became trivial. A necessary evil to pass from one future timeline to the next. So many times, Stephen had stared around him and wondered if he was in the correct timeline, or if he had to die again to set it straight. One of these times, he was going to lose himself and there will be no loop to bring him back.

Stephen was afraid of how good it must feel to finally die.

“I’m just so tired,” Stephen breathed, the words catching in his throat. His hands twisted back into the Cloak, pain twitching back up his arms, but all it did was remind him of the one moment where his pain would end.

Make everything stop. The nightmares, the threats, the constant reminder of his failures, just…

“I want to stay dead, just once. But I  _ can’t. _ ”

“Tell me why.” Tony’s voice was soft and steady, just at the edges of his consciousness. He listened, straining to grab a hold of the unwavering voice. His chest was getting tight again, but each breath he took in was thicker than the last.

Why. Why couldn’t he die? Was it because he knew the world would be ‘all the lesser’ for it? Was he finding rest that horrid that if he dared to do so much as close his eyes, the world would crumble around him? He was the Sorcerer Supreme. He was the one who had to live.

Stephen would not be given the choice of permanent death, not without the rest of the universe suffering. He must live for…

The greater good.

The greater good that does not have room for peace.

The greater good that will never look upon him with kindness. Only more trials to jump one after another.

“Because if I die…”

The tears were welling up, no matter how hard he tried to push them away. Dying was an escape he was forbidden from. He always came back. Each and every time. The universe will not let him die. He was here to suffer.

“...No one else will be able to take my place.”

For the greater good.

How lonely it was at the top. To be irreplaceable to a universe who could not,  _ would not, _ care. And so he let himself break like he had so many times in the shadows of the sanctum, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world. His scars will not fade with time, because time was the one who inflicts the wounds upon his body and mind.

He was time’s puppet, and he will not be free until time itself released him of its grasp.

Something warm wrapped around him, and at first he thought it was the Cloak, but the thick red fabric was still wrapped around his aching hands.

“I won’t lie to you, Doc, and say it’s okay,” the soft voice said, right beside his ear. “But you’re not alone. At least know that.”

But he was.

And so was Tony.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this," Stephen whispered, uncertain to why he was so freely talking about his demons. Maybe it was the comfort that however different their traumas, demons enjoyed the company of the damaged. He could practically feel them crawling under his skin, and he saw them in the shadows of Tony's eyes.

The warmth around him squeezed, pulling Stephen against Tony's sturdy front, where that soft glow glistened his tears. "Cloakie's not gonna be the only one that catches you if you fall," Tony murmured against his skin. "You can trust me."

And for some reason, Stephen believed that. If just to hold onto the dying hope that there was something past all these timelines and dimension hopping. Something solid. Something unmoving.

Like the solid ground beneath his feet.

As Stephen crumbled in Tony’s arms, a part of him focused on the strength that still held him together. Grounding him. Pulling him back from the edge.

He was not falling.

He was not alone.

He would not fall.


End file.
